Surreal
by Foxhead
Summary: Girl is lost in Randland, yadda yadda ya... Written just for fun, and therefore not very serious. (REVISED)
1. Only In Dreams?

And I who promised myself I'd never write a "lost in whatever-world" fic. Well, I wrote this mainly because it was fun and I wanted to write a WoT fic, but didn't have any idea for the plot.

I'll try very hard not to make this end up like your usual Mary-Sue-meets-hot-book-character-and-falls-in-love-fic.

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**Only In Dreams?**

Ania tiptoed into the kitchen. If she could avoid her parents' attention, she could go back to her room and read, instead of getting lumbered down by chores. Not only did she hate cleaning, she'd much rather stay in her room reading "The Wheel of Time", her newest obsession. So why was she in the kitchen, risking being held away from Robert Jordan's magnificent world? Why, one of her other obsessions: food. Quietly opening the fridge, she took out a plate of chocolate. She'd saved it for this occasion and she could almost already taste the wonder that was chocolate.

Straining her ears – listening for the dreaded sound of: "Ania?!" – she quickly poured a glass of milk and practically ran back to her room, denim skirt swishing around her ankles. Leaping through the doorway, she closed the door, and leaned against it, catching her breath. _I sure know how to put some excitement into my life, _she thought with a low chuckle. Then she settled down in her comfy chair, turned on the CD-player – Kate Bush today – and picked up her battered copy of "The Dragon Reborn". _Newest_ obsession? It was a rather old one, actually. But she had just now rediscovered it.

"Why do you keep reading those books?" her dad asked often, "you must know the story by heart by now."

Well, she did. But that didn't mean she didn't discover new things on every re-read. And she quite liked the numerous clothing-descriptions, the political scheming, and all the small details that had no particular significance to the plot, which Lord Jordan had gotten fond of putting into his writing lately.

Opening the book near to the end, she started reading, and was soon lost. So lost she could see the things happening in the book as clearly as she could see her hand turning the page.

_ He raised _Callandor _above his head. Silver lightning crackled from the blade, jagged streaks arching toward the great dome above. "Stop!" he shouted. The fighting ceased; men stared at him in wonder, over black veils, from beneath the rims of round helmets. "I am Rand al'Thor!" he called, so his voice rang through the chamber. "I am the Dragon Reborn!" _Callandor _shone in his grasp._

_ One by one, veiled men and helmeted, they knelt to him, crying, "The Dragon is Reborn! The Dragon is Reborn!"_

Maybe because she was so lost in the book, or maybe because her room was so silent. Either way, she nearly jumped out of her skin – or at least out of the chair – when someone knocked on the door to her room.

Settling down again, still shaken, she called "come!" and the door opened to reveal her mom. Stepping inside, eyeing the piles of clothing Ania had not yet bothered to remove from the floor in disapproval, she cleared her throat, and began.

"Have you done _any_ housework this weekend?" her voice had a tone that Ania had come to dread: her mum already knew what she would answer, and the result would not be pleasant.

"Not really, I–"

"Well, about time you did something then!"

Following was a list that would have scared away most housekeepers. No need to mention how Ania reacted.

"You _can't_ be serious!"

According to the List Of Doom, Ania would not get to know what happened (well, she already did, but that's beside the point) with Rand and Co next; and stay in oblivion until next year! Sighing, she began as her mum left the room. First on the L.O.D., was picking clothes off the floor. That took about half an hour. But it felt longer, for many reasons.

First of all, picking up clothing is, basically, no fun. And Ania being a craver of the fun made it even worse. Secondly: sometimes in the middle of hoisting a particularly large pile of socks – ever wonder where one of the socks in a pair went off to, after being in the washing machine? Ania thought she had found the answer; she had more socks than any two of her friends. Anyway, as she was in the middle of hoisting mentioned large pile of socks off the floor, she simply disappeared.

No flashy light, or distant thunder sounds – think Lord of the Rings – or even a world-turns-negative-for-an-instant moment. She was just there one moment, the next she was gone.

Ania did not notice this, of course, since to her, nothing changed. She was still in her room…wait! Was this over-decorated, dumping place for gold enamel, hers? Well, the pile of socks were still there, no? Any place with a huge pile of _matching_ pairs _had_ to be hers. Shrugging, she dumped down on her bed, and noticed: _silk_ sheets? This might not be her room after all. And what was that crystal sword on that hideous stand doing here?

_What?! _She thought, _a _crystal _sword, on a _hideous _stand?_ No, that was a ridiculous thought! It was impossible! Things like that only happened in dreams, right?

And she thought things couldn't get any worse. Just as she sprang to her feet, the doors banged open, and in came a tall red-haired guy of about 20 years. He wore strange clothing, and was looking at her in surprise – and suspicion.

"Er," Ania said, "hi." That was when she realized she could not move her legs, or her arms. She was surprised at her lack of surprise. But then, she hardly needed to see this guy's palms to know who he was.

"Who're you?" Rand said as he dumped some books Ania had not noticed he was carrying into a chair. He was watching her warily, although Ania did not see why he should do that; she was, after all, unable to move.

"I am–" she began, but he interrupted.

"A Forsaken? Mesaana, Graendal? A wonder you haven't untied yourself by now, I can't shield women."

A bit ruffled from the interruption, Ania tried again. "I am, I mean, my name is Ania. I'm from–" she stopped herself. She couldn't tell him she was from another world! "I'm from Arafel."

"Arafel? What is a Borderlander doing here?"

"Long story. As a matter of fact," what was she to say? He could call the Defenders at any time! Ok, something that would allow her to stay with him, and the other _ta'veren__,_ "I'm a Prophet." _Good one, _she thought sarcastically, _now he'll associate me with Masema_.

"You are?" Rand looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Yes. It's what people in my village calls me," this was going straight to Hades, "I can foretell the future."

"Min…" he muttered.

"Oh, not like her," Ania bit her lip as she realized her error, but Rand was apparently too puzzled to notice. "I – I just have a broader perspective of the world. I see more than others do. Hmm." She closed her eyes, and furrowed her brow, seeming deep in thought. Opening her eyes, she said, "ah. You were in this room some time ago, fighting mirrors." Oh, how she hoped she'd gotten her timeline right. Not only would Rand think her a loon if that was yet to happen, she was also rather uncomfortable with the thought of possibly being present at the site of a Bubble of Evil. Which was why she sighed in relief when Rand replied.

"How do you know? Gossip? Does people know about it?" He stared at her.

"I believe it is called a 'bubble of evil', or is that not what the Aes Sedai, Moiraine, says?" Shock and disbelief marred Rand's face.

"When I heard you had proclaimed yourself on the Almoth Plain, I knew I had to come here, knew you were the Dragon Reborn. You must let me stay with you." Offering a silent prayer, she tried not to look at him with a very begging expression.

"I'm still not sure if I believe in you. You could be a Darkfriend. Or worse."

"Then, let us make a deal." She grinned widely. "But first you must release me. _Saidin_ does not worry me, but I'd like to sit down."

"A…deal?" He asked.

Ania felt the bonds around her disappear. Sitting down on the bed, she said, "an agreement." Nodding, he very clearly kept standing, still eyeing her warily. Sighing – _he's more paranoid than me! _– she prepared herself for an argument.

"Ok, listen up. I will go with you–" That was as far as she got, since Rand apparently liked interrupting people.

"What makes you think I will allow that?"

"Will you let me finish?!"

"Fine, fine."

"I will go with you – and I will, whatever you say; if you don't let me, I'll stalk you – and if I ever – ever! – make a false prophecy, I will let you kill me."

Rand was mouthing, "stalk me?" as if he didn't know the meaning of the words, and seemed not to have heard what else she had said. Ania had to keep herself from punching him in the ribs. _If _Rand _is this annoying, I do not want to meet Mat!_

"Now?" She said, not even trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"Now what?" Rand said. But he must have been frightened by Ania's baleful expression, because he quickly added, "oh, yes, right. You may come with me."

"Great," Ania said, "next stop Rhuidean!"

About that time, she realized that Rand must have gotten a strange feeling he was in the same room as a fruitcake – if he indeed knew what a fruitcake was, aside from a dessert. She gave him her best smile, and he all of a sudden got the need to back away a few paces. Rolling her eyes, she said, "How in the world is this arrangement going to work if you keep being afraid of me? You're the strongest channeler in the world, for Christ's sake!"

She knew she had said something stupid even before Rand said, "Who's Christ?"

"Never you mind."

"Then I won't–" he stopped, and eyed the pile of socks askance, "mind. What is that?"

"It's called socks," Ania all of a sudden realized she should be a bit more respectful, "My Lord Dragon."

"It's a bit late to begin Lord Dragoning me now, Ania was it? Rand will do. Did those come with you?"

"Yes. Do you want to hear my great theory of how they all ended up with me?"

"Not right now."

"Okiday. So, where's your very own Prophet going to live?" Ania had to keep herself from giggling when the thought, 'I'm actually IN Randland!' hit home. Oh, she was going to make him buy her some dresses. She _did _giggle at that. And stopped when his askance-at-socks look became an askance-at-Ania look.

"I can give you some rooms, but you must not call yourself a Prophet," Rand said, "I already have one Prophet on my hands, I don't need two."

"Oh, I'm not anything like Masema; but I see your point. Tell them I am your advisor."

"An advisor of – what? – eighteen?" Her mention of a person she should not know who was didn't seem to affect him much. Or perhaps he was beyond getting surprised at this point.

"Flattering. I'm fifteen. But tell them I'm eighteen, and a prodigy."

"Right. And you will need some new clothes as well." That made Ania smirk, "what you're wearing right now will attract unwanted questions. What fabric is that?" He was looking at her denim skirt.

"I don't know," she lied, "it had been in my family for generations. Some say it is from the Age of Legends." That sounded really stupid to her – three thousand years old fabric? – but Rand seemed to accept it without question. On second thought, Lews Therin might have told him about stasis boxes. Or had he begun talking to Rand yet?

All these thoughts ran through her head, and it took a while for her to realize that Rand was looking at her expectantly. Had he asked her something? Oh, yes.

"You want me to leave? Sure thing! But I will need a guide to my rooms." Was that too demanding? Rand didn't seem to have reacted.

"I'll tell one of the Aiel to show you," there must have been an odd look on her face, because he apparently mistook it, and continued, "don't worry, they're not dangerous unless they veil their faces. Wait a minute! How did you get past them?"

Ania gulped, and stuttered a, "That's for me to know, and you to wonder about. Now, what about those rooms?"

Rand sighed, and – opening the door, poking his head out – told one of the Far Dareis Mai to show her the way. Ania skipped out, not noticing a puzzled Rand watching her, and danced down the hall, smiling from ear to ear.

_Only in dreams?__ HA!_

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**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize is not mine.


	2. Fabric, Fire, Fade

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Note on re-post:

Ok, so after re-reading The Shadow Rising, I found I had made a BIG mistake with the time-line. So I have fixed a little on chapter 2 and a lot on chapter 3.

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**Fabric, Fire, Fade**

Ania spent the next three days in utter, all-consuming euphoria. Well, it took her another visit to Rand, basically forcing him to give her money – the scene had not been pretty – before she could reach that state, but having accomplished this, she went shopping. Saying, "went" isn't quite right, since she stayed in the Stone the entire time. In a world where you could easily get away with murder, a large city like Tear wasn't exactly the first place Ania would go for a stroll. So she asked the majhere what to do, and the woman brought four seamstresses up to Ania's rooms.

"You made the right decision, not to go wandering about in the streets," approving was the least you could say of the majhere's tone, "who knows what could happen to a pretty" – the woman was obviously blind – "young woman like you out there." With a sniff that told Ania exactly what she thought of the streets of Tear, she left. Ania ticked off one of the points on her mental list: "Things to witness in Randland". _So THAT'S a sniff._

The seamstresses were looking her up and down, apparently thinking about what colors would fit her, and how the dresses were to look. _They're in for a surprise._

They were indeed most definitely surprised at what Ania ordered them to make. She had spent the day of her arrival thinking about this – among other things – and had realized that the beautiful dresses she had at first envisioned were rather unfit for a travel in the Aiel Waste. So she made the seamstresses make three pairs if linen breeches (the capris of Randland) and four silk shirts, in addition to a light blue riding dress in wool. When the seamstresses asked if they should make some stockings as well, Ania laughed and said, "I've got that covered." In her mad-and-happy state after the arrival, she'd of course forgotten her socks in Rand's room, and he'd dumped them on her after the money-grubbing incident. They were all nicely placed in the gold-enameled wardrobe of hers. Which happened to be what she was looking at when the seamstresses left.

"Do they put gold on _everything_?" she said to herself for the nth time.

She spent the time waiting for her new clothes either reading The Prophecies of the Dragon, to try and figure out what happened after Crossroads of Twilight, or stalking her favorite characters. Mat labeled her "insane and possibly dangerous" after she'd for the third time stopped him to ask whether he'd started hearing dice yet. Frankly, the only person who didn't think her a complete nuthead was Nynaeve, whom in turn had labeled Ania, "quite likable." That could have to do with the fact that they both had an unusual amount of temper.

Nynaeve noted this on the second day, when Ania was getting anxious that her clothes wouldn't arrive in time, and she would end up wearing the same old denim skirt and red cotton shirt for several months. For someone who followed a strict pattern when it came to changing outfits, that was hell. She was stomping down a corridor, and promptly bumped into Mat. He was carrying an oil-lamp for some reason, and somehow managed to set the right sleeve of her shirt on fire. It hurt, of course, and it took her a while to think straight, and rip the detachable sleeve off. She stamped on it, and the fire went out.

Both because her arm hurt like hell and because she was now going to wear a lopsided shirt for several months, she exploded.

"You idiot! You complete woolhead!" she trailed off in a series of muttered curses, before continuing, "what was the flaming point of doing that?"

"I didn't do anything," Mat said, quite reasonably, "if you didn't keep following me around all the time, this wouldn't have happened."

"Followed you? You have high ideas of yourself, Master Cauthon!" Her voice was shrill, yet she couldn't care less.

"Look, you didn't get hurt, did you?"

It came to Ania that her arm was no longer hurting. She looked at it: there wasn't even a hint of a burn. _But…?_

"See?" Mat said.

"You still ruined my shirt!"

"Why don't you just take the other arm off as well, and then there won't be anything odd about it!" He sounded quite exasperated.

_Nothing wrong at all._ There was no way she would walk about without sleeves. Before she knew what she was doing, she had slapped him across the face and stomped off.

Which was why, on the third afternoon, she was pacing back and forth feeling like a complete idiot. _Why? Why did I let my temper run off with me? Mat is supposed to be my favorite character, and I _slap _him? What kind of _idiot_ does such a thing? _The only positive thing was that Nynaeve had looked approving when she'd asked if Ania needed healing. That thought led to another, something she'd been wondering about for a while now: why did her arm heal that fast? It didn't make sense, she knew how a burn felt – as a matter of fact, she had a large scar on her left arm, after getting a cup of hot coffee over it as a kid – and that HAD been a burn. So why was her arm unharmed? _Oh GOD no! I am not turning into a Mary Sue with special powers! Please no!_

Her fearful thoughts were interrupted by a scream of terror from the corridor. _Oh no, _Ania thought, _the attack on the Stone._ She had completely forgotten. The Stone was probably mingling with Trollocs and Myrddraal by now! _Ok, reasonable thoughts, reasonable thoughts…_

"Right," she muttered to herself, "what to do now?" Both fleeing and staying seemed unwise, since both would make her an easy target. But it seemed to her that out of those two, staying was much more preferable than running around in the corridors, waiting for Rand to do the whole _Callandor_ Shadowspawn-seeking lighting-trick. So she tiptoed to the door, listened to make sure there were no Myrddraal or Trolloc outside, and locked the door. Which was very unwise, since Fades doesn't make a sound, and there happened to be one just outside the door.

The door handle rattled. Ania stared at it in pure, all-consuming terror. Something was banged against the wood – the hilt of a pitch-black sword.

"You can't escape me," came a horribly sounding voice from outside, and Ania had a sudden urge to wail at the top of her lungs, "open up. I won't…_hurt _you." Her wail came out in a croak. The Fade was laughing, humorlessly. Abruptly, the laugh stopped. Ania sighed heavily.

"You certainly took your time," she muttered under her breath to the non-present Rand. Confident that Rand had taken care of present Shadowspawn, she took up again her pacing back and forth, lamenting loudly over her temper. Soon, she had gotten herself into such a fit that she picked up an ornate vase and threw it at the gold enameled wardrobe. She missed, and watched two pale hands reach out from the shadows to catch it. Her spine turned to ice, her legs to jelly, yet her eyes could not stray from the Myrddraal as it stepped out from the shadow of the wardrobe.

_Myrddraal__ travel by shadows…_ The thought fluttered in her mind, taunting her, and disappeared.

"I was…_amused_," the Fade said. Ania knew it was lying; Fades' only amusement lay in killing. "By your behavior. For a while. Now, I think, I will let your death amuse me."

_Now, _came from the place in Ania's brain that wasn't paralyzed by the Fade, _would be a good time to move._ Oh, how she wanted to. Just run out that door, away from that fear-evoking gaze, and find Rand. But she couldn't; it was as if her feet were fastened to the floor. A sob escaped her. She saw the Myrddraal approach, saw it draw its sword, saw the sword of Thakan'dar absorb the light of the oil-lamps, instead of reflecting it, saw the Myrddraal lift it to take her head off…

That's when it happened. The horrible paralyzing fear disappeared as Ania was blinded by a flash of lighting. She felt a sharp, stinging pain on her left arm, across the years-old burn, and knew that this was the end. The lighting had made the Myrddraal miss her head, but he had still managed to cut her arm. However shallow, a wound from a Fade's sword meant death.

She fell to her knees, clutching her arm. Blinking against the purple spots across her vision that the lighting had caused, she waited for something to happen. Death. But the only thing that did was that her arm stopped hurting. Staring at it, she got up, legs still wobbly from the encounter with the Fade. There was no wound on her arm. _It had healed._ Where there should be a killing gash, there was only smooth skin.

She'd survived a wound from a Fade, without an Aes Sedai. _I _am _turning into a Mary Sue! _Ania turned to the mirror, to see if her eyes had suddenly grown large and sapphire-y. Nope. And no sign of silver shine in her dark blonde hair either. Sighing, she dumped down on the bed and gazed at the ceiling. Was that a gold pattern? In the _ceiling_?

"Meh, whatever," Ania said and rolled over on her stomach. She stretched out her arms and studied them, for the hundredth time comparing the left to the right. Whenever Ania had lamented over that bizarre-looking star of a scar on her left arm, her mum had always told her that it was an "original trait" and that she should be proud of it. Sufficient to say, when her mum said something like that, Ania was _not_ proud of it. But, thanks to Mat, she now had to show it off to everyone.

"Well, at least Aiel find scars attractive," she said aloud to no one in particular.

"They do?" came a musical voice from the door. Ania started, got up, and had her first view of Moiraine. Another point in her mental list was ticked off as she took in the ageless look. And she was short! Ania thought her nine-year-old little sister was taller than this woman!

"How did you get in?" she asked. _Maybe I should send for those seamstresses to make me a silk dress,_ she thought, as she noticed how nice Moiraine's dress looked. She shook off the thought when she realized how stupid it sounded, especially with everything that had happened tonight taken into account.

"The door was unlocked. You're really lucky none of the Shadowspawned got in here," Moiraine said.

"But," Ania said, staring in confusion at the open door, "I locked it! I swear I did!"

"Then please explain to me why it was unlocked just a minute ago." Moiraine looked expectantly at Ania, and continued when Ania did nothing but stand around, looking flustered, "There you go. Now, Rand sent me here to check if you everything was alright here, is it?"

"Yes." Ania remembered her supposed profession, "he tried to revive a child, didn't he?"

Moiraine didn't look surprised at all. Ania supposed Rand had told her.

"Be glad I'm not a Brown," Moiraine said, her voice sounding amused, "I will leave you now." She turned and left.

Ania was left staring at the door, questions buzzing in her head. Why had her arm healed so fast, twice? And why had the door unlocked itself? It made no sense.

_The Aelfinn will know._

She jumped out of the bed, and walked determinedly out the door.


	3. A Weave Apart

**A Weave Apart**

Ania knew that she should have taken some time to word her three questions, or at least find out what they were to be about. She had _one_ question ready, but that had been ready since she left her rooms.

 But it seemed she would have plenty of time to figure out the other two.

 "Where _is_ the Great Hold?"

 She had been wandering about the Stone for what felt like hours, not finding anything remotely resembling a storeroom. She had, on the other hand, seen more tacky tapestries than she'd ever thought she would; and she'd found the kitchens. Randlandian sweets were quite good, but she found herself wondering whether there was chocolate in this world. _Bah, probably in Shara or something._

 Asking the servants for directions was out of the question. She'd tried that, half an hour back, and the girl had squeaked – squeaked! – and left without a word. She didn't know if it was her or the mention of a room full of Aes Sedai artifacts, but if it was the first, she was going to have a word or two with a certain person. Who else could have been spreading negative rumors about her? It was not as if Rand spent his time gossiping with the servants. _Now wait just a minute…_   

 And so she found herself casually leaning against _another_ tacky tapestry opposite the door to Mat's room, waiting for him to come out and hoping the sight of her wouldn't make him decide not to go to the Great Hold after all. Accidentally changing the Wheel of Time plot wasn't a good thing, she knew. She'd read _some_ fanfiction, after all.

 The door opened, and Mat walked out. He looked at her and just happened to jump back a few paces.

 "What?" Ania tried to ask pleasantly. It came out as a growl.

 He peered at her suspiciously. "Just wondering what you are going to hit me for this time," he raised his hands as if to protect himself from a blow, "looking at you? Also, I am curious as to why you keep showing up everywhere I go."

 "I need directions to the Great Hold; and I won't slap you unless you make me angry." She smiled sweetly. Poisoned-honey-sweetly. "Besides, you should get used to girls showing up everywhere you go, every time you turn. It will happen to you again."

 She grinned at the puzzled face she'd caused.

 "What—?"

 "Oh, never mind. Directions?"

 "Ahh…" He raked his hand through his hair, "I'm on my way there now."

 "Of course. But you won't want to walk with me there, will you?" There was a tiny shift in his eyes. "I thought so. But if giving me directions is too much of a hassle, I can always just follow you."

 "No," he sighed, "You can walk with me."

 "Great!" She clapped her hands together with a happy giggle, saw Mat roll his eyes, and lowered her hands. "Fine, I'll lay off the quirkiness. But only for tonight!" She jabbed her finger at him. He gave a resigned laugh and stepped sideways, making a two meter gap between them. Ania decided not to try filling it up, seeing as it would be embarrassing if he kept edging sideways.

 They walked for a while in silence. Then the silence became too heavy for Ania to bear, and she said, "so, erm, should we enter the doorway together or…?"

 Mat looked at her with a puzzled expression.

 "I mean, erm—" _must__ stop saying "erm" all the time, must stop _"_–_see, Rand is entering it too."

 "What?" Mat stopped short and Ania realized that she really should stop springing potential plot-changing surprises on him.

 "I mean, erm, it won't do anyone any harm. And, see, I really don't want to explain why I'm hanging out in The Great Hold to Rand. He, erm, thinks I'm a bit strange as it is."

 Mat mumbled something that might have been, "I don't blame him," but as Ania was not quite sure he _had_ said that, she gave him the benefit of the doubt and did not become violent.

 "So," she said overly loud in an attempt to end this discussion, "go in at the same time?"

 "I guess it will be so," Mat sighed, "though we can't walk through it exactly at the same time. There isn't enough room."

 Ania wondered for a short while whether she should yell at him for calling her fat, but decided against it.

 They walked down into a dusty corridor. There were footprints on the floor, and Ania wondered whether Rand had already been through here. Mat stopped, and Ania saw why: they were standing in front of a door. It was hanging askew and when Mat kicked it open it fell apart. Out of the corner of her eye, Ania saw something small jump and scuttle off in the opposite direction. A rat. She shivered. Then she turned her eyes to the room beyond the door. It was very dusty, but to her relief there was a clear absence of cobwebs. Rats _and_ spiders would have been too much. She spotted the redstone doorframe after a while looking, standing out from the pile of she-knew-not-whats. A nervous flutter started up in her stomach.

 Mat went over, studied the _ter'angreal_ for a moment, then gave it a push; apparently, he was wondering, like Ania, whether the thing was likely to topple over. When it didn't give away, he gave it a stronger push, and Ania almost called out for him to stop – she wanted answers and she didn't want him pushing over a possible chance of getting them. As it showed, she had no need to worry. The doorway didn't tip over, and after a short pause in which he seemed to be arguing with himself, Mat extended his leg and stepped through. He disappeared.

 Ania was instantly grateful that he'd left his lamp. It was standing on a barrel close to the _ter'angreal_, giving off a feeble light. She'd never been particularly afraid of the dark, but there was something spooky about this dusty room, and not to mention the rats skulking around the corners. She also became very grateful, suddenly, that the majhere had basically forced her to give up her sandals for a pair of boots ("a respectable young girl does not blatantly show off her feet in that manner!"). Imagine having a rat run over unprotected feet… She shuddered.

 Walking slowly and reluctantly towards the doorway, she stopped but a pace from it. To her it seemed like the closer she got, the less attractive walking through it became. A small part of her brain was disappointed that Mat hadn't tipped it over. As it were, she might not have gone through at all, if she hadn't suddenly heard footsteps in the corridor behind her. Realizing she had no time to hide, she ignored her nervousness and quickly stepped through the doorway.

 A blinding light met her, and for a short while, for eternity, a thunderous sound filled her ears and head. Then she stepped onto a dust-free floor in a large, round, hall. She had just begun taking in the peculiar sight around her, the odd yellow columns and the impossibly high ceiling, when a breathy voice spoke words she didn't understand. She instantly beat herself up with a mental stick for forgetting. _They speak the Old Tongue!_ Turning towards the voice, Ania didn't see the speaker at once. Then she saw something moving amongst the columns and, addressing it, she stuttered: "Sorry—I—don't—underst—"

 She was cut short when the—Aelfinn blew a whistle. It had to be a whistle. Or maybe the Aelfinn was able to make such a sound on its own? Either way, a loud, painfully high tone sounded in the hall, and seconds later two, not one, figures emerged from the columns. Ania wondered idly where the other had come from, as she hadn't seen the arrival. The newcomer was smaller than the other, yet it seemed to be her (as they came closer, Ania noted that the smaller had clearly feminine traits) that was leading the two of them. Both had a snakelike appearance – tall and unnaturally thin, their hair and skin caught the light the way snakes' scales do. They reminded Ania of aliens. Also, they reminded her oddly of Voldemort.

 Shaking off that silly thought, she realized that the smaller of the two had to be the translator. Ania seemed to remember reading Rand describing her to be "talking like an old book". _Wonder what old books sound like..._

 The male Aelfinn started talking in what Ania thought might have been a pretty language coming from another being. When he was finished the woman opened her mouth. She spoke as if she was reading aloud, in a droning voice relived of any emotion.

 "Good. Thou hast not brought along any lamps, nor any torches. So as the agreement was, and is, and eternally will be. Thou hast not brought any iron? Nor any instruments of music?"

 "No, I haven't," Ania responded after a while, shaking her head. The woman not only spoke in a very old-fashioned way, she also had a thick accent, making her very difficult to understand.

 After being told Ania's response, the man beckoned with his hand, moving for her to follow him. He spoke again, yet the woman's translation – "follow" – was hardly needed.

 Although it was the man who had told Ania to follow him, it was the woman who led the three of them. Trailing behind, Ania's inborn curiosity quickly made her eyes dart in every direction, taking in as much of this strange place as possible. Her first impression of the place was "curves". All around her was swirly patterns, circles and spirals; all the walls and windows were curved. It seemed to her like Aelfinn architecture was completely bereft of hard edges. Idly, she thought that maybe the Tairens could get some pointers from the Aelfinn on how to put intricate patterns everywhere _without_ overdoing it. The nervousness she'd felt before had completely disappeared, drowned in utter fascination. More than once Ania had to stop herself from lingering by one of the circular windows. For a while she speculated on what would happen if she just jumped through one of them. The strange-looking trees and the dim light in which they were bathed were screaming out to her to come and take a closer look. She realized that jumping might not be a good idea, though, when she saw the expressions on her guides' faces after she'd lingered too long by the window that showed that strange metal construction – three spires curving inwards towards the same point. _Maybe it has something to do with the Tower of Ghenjei?_

 Disappointment rang in her stomach when they – after what Ania meant was a way too short time – stopped by a tall, curved doorway. The man spoke and the woman translated:

  "Here," she gestured towards the door, "here thy answers may be found. Enter. Enter and ask."

 Then they both did something peculiar. They looked at her intently while inhaling deeply, slowly. Their mouths were close to, if not, gaping. Ania shrugged uncomfortably and suddenly remembered reading about the Aelfinn being mind-readers or something to that extent. She made a quick movement as if to cover her head, but realized at the last minute that that might be considered rude. Letting her arms fall to her sides, she quickly walked through the doorway. Looking behind her, she saw that the translator was following. The man seemed to have disappeared. The woman was still staring at her, but her mouth was now closed, and something that looked like surprise was on her face. Offering no thought as to why anything with her should seem surprising, Ania turned her attention to the three tall pedestals in front of her. An Aelfinn, robed in red, was sitting on each. The one in the center was a man, she noted, while the two others were women. All three were staring down at her in the same way the guide and the translator had done. They, too, were breathing deeply, almost panting. Ania shrugged uncomfortably again, feeling more and more a want to take a bath. She wanted to just get her answers and go back to Tear, get this whole thing over with. But she felt it would be polite to wait for them to speak first. They did, all of them at once; words that would have been dramatic, had they not been translated in such a boring voice.

 "Thou doth not belong."

 Ania stared at them. She had a feeling this was not their usual opening. Carefully, so as to not by accident use up one of her questions, she said: "I am aware of that." And she was; she just hadn't thought about it very much before. Would her coming from another world, possibly another universe, affect her chances of getting answers to her questions? She waited for her answer to be translated, and continued: "I figured, though, that it wouldn't be a problem, is i—" she stopped herself. That had almost been a question.

 "It doth not be a problem, as long as thine questions doth not concern thy life before. Ask, according to the agreement of old."

 _Her life before_? Oh, yes, of course. Her life before she came to Randland. She quickly jumped to her first question: "Why did my arm heal itself and my door unlock itself?" She had figured those two happenings were linked.

 The three lifted their eyes from her, studying the air above her, and then answered.

 "Thou doth not belong. A thread in the pattern doth not leave markings upon thee and thou doth not leave markings upon threads in the pattern. Unless, of course, they hath come unto thy weave."

 Her weave? She didn't understand. Eyeing the translator dubiously, she wondered if there had been a mistake in the translation. Suddenly, a bell rang, for some reason upsetting the Aelfinn. The three on the pedestals uttered anxious sentences in the Old Tongue, seemingly addressing thin air. Curious, she wondered what they were saying. When the translator made no move to convert their words, Ania almost asked her to do so. Until she remembered not to use up her questions.

 The three spoke to Ania again. For the first time there was emotion, distress, in the translator's voice.

 "Ask. Ask."

 The questions she'd previously thought up had disappeared from her mind. The only thing she now could think of was questions related to the first answer.

 "What do you mean, if they have become part of 'thy weave'? What is my weave?" For a split second a giant "ops!" sounded in her head. That was two questions, not one.

 "Threads like thine doth not exist in the pattern, they can not become part of it. But threads of the pattern can become parts of thy weave, if given to you. Thy weave is woven alongside the pattern. It interacts, but is not part of it."

 The bell rang again, right after the woman on the left pedestal had spoken. Then, after the translator had converted and spoken the words, it rang for a third time, always gaining strength. Suddenly, two more Aelfinn had appeared, both looking and garbed like her guide. They grabbed her shoulders without bothering to ask whether she wanted to go on her own. She resisted them long enough to get out a, "but—?" Then they dragged her firmly towards the door. The last she saw of the room was the translator, speaking sternly and for the first time on her own. "Thou hast no more questions."

 She was dragged hurriedly along, the two Aelfinn oblivious to her shouts about walking on her own. Twice more the bell rang, loud enough to make the floor and walls vibrate. Twice she stumbled and would have fallen if it weren't for the firm grips the two had on her arms and shoulders. Bewildered, she wondered what on earth she'd done to earn this brutal goodbye.

 In no time, they were back by the redstone doorway. The two men stopped in front of it and simultaneously let go of her, so she involuntarily sat down on the floor. She got up, ready to berate them of the impoliteness of their behavior (she had conveniently forgotten about them not understanding what she said). But when she didn't move to step through the doorway, the Aelfinn apparently saw it only appropriate to give her a light push. She fell backwards through the _ter'angreal_.

 For an eternity she fell backwards through the white blinding light with the deafening roar filling her ears. Then she hit the dusty floor of The Great Hold.

 "_Ow__,_" was the first sound to escape her, a disgruntled sound caused by annoyance more than pain.

 "At least you didn't get thrown out of it," said a voice from behind the doorway. She scrambled up, brushing dust off her clothes. She could see Mat through the _ter'angreal_, leaning against some barrels and boxes on the other side; he looked like he'd—

 "Did you just try to jump through it again?" Ania asked.

 "Yes," he straightened up and immediately hurtled himself through it again. He didn't disappear, though, and had to catch himself on the barrel holding his lamp to avoid falling. The lamp tilted dangerously to one side, and Mat grabbed it to avoid setting the Hold on fire. He hissed and Ania guessed he must have burned himself. 

 "You can't go in there twice," Ania said, watching him suck his fingers. Then, noticing that he looked rather angry, she added slyly "what, didn't get the answers you wanted?"

 Mat didn't answer her, only muttered something under his breath about "marry" and "bloody noblewomen" while staring at the _ter'angreal_ as if he wished it was possible to murder stone.

 A boot appeared, as if from thin air, followed by the rest of Rand, a rather nifty-looking sword of flame in hand. He started when he saw the two.

 "Just poking around?" he asked, "or did you go through too?"

 When Mat made no move to answer – he just eyed Rand warily for some reason – Ania opened her mouth to do so. Rand interrupted her.

 "I wonder what you would need to go through it for, since you allegedly know all about the future already." There was a slight doubt in his voice when he spoke the last bit. _Oh, no! Can't have him doubting me now!_

 "I—" what were she to say? "I—I  cannot see things concerning myself. I asked questions concerning things I am in doubt about, and I got answers. What did _you_ ask about?" The last question popped out before she could stop it. It would probably work as a nice diversionary tactic, even though he probably would not tell her.

 She was quite right. He didn't answer her question. He only nodded and turned his attention to Mat.

 "And what did _you_ ask about?"

 Mat didn't have a chance to answer, for suddenly Moiraine appeared, stepping gracefully out of seemingly thin air. Her mouth tightened at the sight of Rand and Mat. She completely ignored Ania.

 "You! You were both in there. That is why…!" She hissed. "One of you would have been bad enough, but two _ta'veren_ at once – you might have torn the connection entirely and been trapped there!" So _that_ was why the Aelfinn had been so insistent on Ania leaving. Moiraine continued, "Wretched boys playing with things you do not know the danger of. Perrin! Is Perrin in there, too?" Was he? Ania couldn't remember. "Did he share your…_exploit?_"

 "The last I saw Perrin," Mat said as Ania started edging towards the door. She was worried that Moiraine might turn her anger on her next, "he was getting ready to go to bed." He eyed the _ter'angreal_ dubiously while he said it, though. Maybe he expected Perrin to step out? Ania didn't want to be there for that, if that should happen, so she quickly stepped out in the corridor.

 It was dark there, but Ania was so lost in thought she forgot to be worried about rats and whatnot. Now that she had left the Hold, her thoughts had nowhere to go except to the _ter'angreal_ and what had happened within it. Her answers had indeed been a bit easier to understand than what she could remember Mat's being. Her weave. Imagining a patch on a piece of cloth, she thought she could understand what they had meant.

 "…threads of the pattern can become parts of thy weave, if given to you…"

 _So_, she thought, _as long as something isn't given to me, it can't affect me, and I can't affect it._ Well, it made sense with the oil-lamp and the Myrddraal's sword, but what about the key? The rooms had been given to her, hadn't they? And wasn't the key part of the rooms?

 Pondering about this, her feet took her all the way up to the floor her rooms were in. Walking over to her door, she said in an amused voice, "hullo, o dearest part of mine weave." Then, opening the door, she entered the room and picked up the vase she'd thrown against the wardrobe the day before. Shifting it carelessly from hand to hand, she recalled how a maid brought it in the day after her arrival. It had been placed in her rooms, but the maid had never stated that the vase was hers. Without second thought, Ania dropped it on the floor. It broke. And before her eyes, it turned whole again. She'd been expecting it, but Ania still goggled at it. Then the vase was no longer on the floor, but on the table. Exactly where the maid had put it.

 "Freaky," Ania whispered.

 Someone knocked on her door. She yelled, "come", and watched the Majhere enter. In one hand, she was holding a piece of red cloth, in the other, some small piece of metal.

 "Hello," Ania said.

 "I am sorry to come so late, Lady Ania," now _that_ was one thing that never ceased to freak her out. "Lady" Ania, indeed. "But one of the maids found this in the corridors, and I thought I recognized it from that special shirt you were wearing. Is it yours?" She held the red cloth forward, and Ania suddenly recognized it. It was the sleeve Mat had set on fire!

 "Ye—Yes," she stuttered, "thank you." Giving a half-hearted smile, she took the sleeve from the Majhere's hand.

 "The real reason I came here is this," the woman held her other hand forward, and Ania saw what the metal piece really was – a key.

 "The previous owner of these rooms accidentally broke this in two, and I am afraid I must admit I did not get it to repairs until after you had arrived. I got you a substitute key, of course, and a rather plain one at that, doesn't match the door at all!" She huffed and gestured towards it. For the first time Ania noticed that the plain metal key really didn't match the, of course, heavily decorated door. "But it worked for its purpose, I believe. Now, the real key came back from repairs today." She gave it to Ania, "my sincerest apologies if this has caused you any displeasure."

 "Not at all," Ania smiled, happy to have this explained. Now she knew why the door had unlocked itself – like the vase, the key had come to the rooms after Rand had given them to her.

 "Well, that is good. I wish you a good night."  With a slight curtsey, the Majhere left Ania to once again be puzzled over how the woman switched from being polite in the manner of highest-ranking servant to a guest of the lord, to the rather stern, mother-to-daughter tone she'd used when discussing Ania's footwear.


End file.
